


hold you close at night

by arabmorgan



Series: Three Little Words [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabmorgan/pseuds/arabmorgan
Summary: You think it a side-effect of his recent return to mortality at first, this sudden and unseemly determination of Lucio’s to have you virtually all the time.





	hold you close at night

Lucio takes to being alive once more like a fish to water. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering it’s not exactly his first time being alive, but somehow it is. There is an unprecedented childlike wonder on his face at every touch and taste and smell, memories and experiences flooding back to him everywhere he turns.

“This is wonderful!” he exclaims, one cheek stuffed full of freshly-baked, warm bread, just simple fare without even butter to accentuate its fragrance. “Has bread always tasted like this?” His eyes curve into half-moons as he smiles, sweet and sharp all at the same time. You don’t think he even realises how cruel the tilt of his lips looks – he’s had to be dangerous for so long that he doesn’t seem to remember how not to be – but the warmth in his eyes is just as easy to read.

It’s all so simple to him, his adoration of this world that he thought had been stolen away from him forever, and you find it so very, very endearing.

He’s suddenly become terribly tactile with you too, in all the tiniest ways – a hand on the small of your back anytime he’s by your side, the brief curl of his flesh fingers around yours as he walks past, his chin settling heavily on your shoulder as he peers with half-hearted interest at the book in your hands. You haven’t heard all that much about what he was like with Nadia before, but somehow you have a feeling it wasn’t quite like this.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that his newfound appreciation for his five senses extends quite liberally to his carnal appetites as well.

The first time he takes you is the very night of the Devil’s defeat, heralded by Lucio’s exultant return to his own flesh-and-blood body. The intoxicating rush of a hard-fought, hard-won battle crashes through both of you, and his mouth is on yours the moment you’re both alone, rough and angry and relieved. He knocks you back hard against the wall, hands gentle around your waist despite the force of his mouth, and the sudden motion tears a gasp from your lips.

“I’ll have you now,” he growls, his breath hot against your cheek, and all you can do is close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall, baring your neck to him as he bends to press feverish, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. You hook one leg about his hip and he takes the hint, hoisting you up firmly against him, close enough that you can feel the hard length of his cock laying against his thigh, pressed tantalisingly close to the juncture of your legs.

“_Lucio_,” you whisper, as he begins to rub against you, hissing from the frustration of the fabric still separating your skin from his. With a grumble of dissatisfaction, Lucio adjusts his grip on your thighs before abruptly tossing you over his right shoulder in a most undignified manner. You squeak in surprise, fingers clutching at the back of his white vest for a moment before relaxing in favour of giggling at the sound of his petulant, stomping footsteps.

“Why are you laughing?” he snaps, one hand smacking your ass as he marches down the corridor in the direction of your room in the palace. The sound of the slap rings off the aged stone but barely stings, and that only makes you snicker all the more.

You decide you’ve probably laughed at him quite enough to deserve it when he throws you down on your bed with an annoyed huff, and promptly proceeds to tear half your clothes off you in a single motion with his sharp golden digits. The crooked curl of his lips is cold in the moonlight as he looms over you, and the blast of cool air settling upon the bare skin of your chest makes you shiver. Still, that doesn’t dull the heat of arousal uncoiling slowly in your belly as you watch him rip at his own clothes with a feral sort of frenzy.

Wriggling out of the remnants of your own outfit, you’re as bare as he is by the time he crawls over you, your legs falling open without thought so he can settle between them. He murmurs your name against your lips, one hand palming your breast before trailing slowly down your stomach, leaving an uneven trail of ticklish heat on your skin. You can’t help the whimper that breaks out of you when his fingers press into you, two fingers thrusting deep and crooking just so.

Lucio is almost purring with delight despite the force of your grip on his arm, his crimson eyes narrow with satisfaction. “You’re so wet for me,” he hums, and you swear you can actually see his ego swelling to gigantic proportions before your eyes. Before you can snap at him, his fingers are moving in you, and the world falls away as you cant your hips up, eyes drifting shut as you focus on the sensation of his clever movements, even as the faintly pleasurable tingle of a third finger comes to accompany the others.

It’s not enough, and you whine at the unfulfillment of it all, fingers dragging through his pale locks as he brings you closer and closer to the edge – but never over it. “I _need _you,” you cry, knowing he will love how needy you sound, knowing he will give you whatever you want as long as you deign to beg for it.

Sure enough, he surges up against you with renewed fervour, tongue plunging into your mouth, teeth pressing almost painfully against your lips as his sticky fingers withdraw from your core to grip at your waist. The blunt head of his cock pushes insistently against your entrance, opening you up too quickly until you find yourself whimpering at the unexpected sting.

Lucio slows at that out-of-place sound, drawing back from you until he can meet your eyes, his gaze dark with concern, not as far-gone as he’d been acting after all. “You’ve never…?” He leaves his question unspoken, but he looks vaguely horrified at the very thought.

You stare up at him, chest heaving, something in you aching at that anxious look in his eyes. “I don’t remember,” you confess, and he seems to crumple a little at that.

“Oh,” he says uncertainly, and then he leans down to kiss the side of your mouth lightly, and the tip of your nose and the corners of your eyes, and he goes on planting feather-light kisses all over your face until you are smiling against his skin and limp in his arms. “I’m sorry.” The whisper is so soft that you barely hear it even though his lips are by your ear, and you reach up to comb your fingers slowly through his silky hair.

“What for?” you ask lightly, feeling warm and safe with his chest pressed against yours.

Lucio pauses, like he’s considering whether or not to answer, and finally he mumbles, “I’m sorry that you don’t remember because of me.”

You trail your fingers down the side of his face and along the sharpness of his jaw, feeling the tenseness in his muscles. “There’s nothing to forgive,” you murmur, and to you, it’s true. It’s not as if you remember very much about dying of the plague, which is certainly something to be thankful for.

Putting the slightest bit of pressure into your touch, you angle his face until he’s looking right into your eyes. “Just love me now and I’ll forgive you anything,” you whisper, with the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on your face, until something in his eyes softens too.

He takes it slow this time, propping himself up on his golden arm so that his eyes are fixed on your face as he pushes into you. The pain never really goes past a stinging, uncomfortable stretch, although you have no idea if it’s because you’re absolutely dripping wet for him or because this isn’t the first cock you’ve had in you, and as you watch Lucio’s angled brows knit together, his lips drawing back in a snarl of painful pleasure, you find that you can’t really bring yourself to care.

Every thrust brings to life a dull burst of warmth deep within you, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open so you can see the minute shifts in Lucio’s expression – his half-parted lips and the bead of sweat sliding down the side of his sharp nose, the twitch of his left eye every time he pants loudly into the silence. He takes a surprisingly long time to lose control, and he’s starting a look a little wild-eyed by the time he begins to pound into you, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the chamber.

You can’t seem to stop moaning, just jumbled syllables that occasionally sound like _yes _or _faster _or _Lucio_, but mostly little cut-off cries and gasps as you’re pushed further up the bed with every rough thrust. Suddenly, like a final desperate measure, he reaches down between the two of you to rub at your swollen clit with slick fingers, and you come apart at the seams almost the very moment he touches you.

It’s a quiet sort of explosion, a whiteness behind your eyes that leaves you breathless. Maybe you scream and maybe you don’t, but all you know is that you’re gasping as you come back to your senses, loose and pliant beneath Lucio. He’s still moving above you, hips snapping hard and fast like a wild thing unleashed, crimson eyes shut tight as he seeks his own pleasure.

You clutch loosely on to his shoulders, wrapping your legs about his hips as he pushes deep inside you one final time, grunting wordlessly. You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, the primal shudder of his body as he comes with you still contracting lazily around him, riding the final pulses of your own peak. It’s enough for you to overlook the unpleasantness of dried sweat on his skin as he lowers himself gently over you, exhaling against your neck and nuzzling into your side.

You sigh his name, holding him close even as you feel him slip out of you. The high is dying down now, the exhaustion of saving the world setting in bone-deep, and even though at any other time you wouldn’t stand for this, that night you fall asleep with a distinct stickiness smeared on your thighs and between your legs, with Lucio’s comforting weight draped partially over you.

That night, you cherish these little signs that you’re both still well and truly alive.

For you, the utter contentment carries over to the following morning. It feels like such a terribly long time since you’ve woken up in a soft bed that it takes you more than a moment to realise exactly why you are awake in the first place, and at such a ridiculous hour of the morning no less.

You keep your eyes closed as you take stock of your surroundings, enjoying the softness of the pillow beneath your head, the warmth of Lucio’s body moulded against you from behind, the tangle of sheets around your legs – and the fullness of a cock buried deep in you.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, as he rocks against you with slow, languid strokes, one hand reaching over your waist and flicking playfully at your clit. You whine at that, pressing your ass back more tightly against him, and the low, sinful chuckle that comes from deep in his throat makes you shiver with sudden arousal.

“You just looked so utterly delicious when I woke up,” he whispers in your ear, with that annoyingly superior tone that you know he uses just to get a rise out of you. “You moaned so prettily when I touched you, and you got so wet so _quickly_. Your body was simply begging to be used by me.” He ends off with a particularly hard thrust, and you hiss, refusing to show how much his words are affecting you, although you suspect the warmness between your thighs is already answer enough for him.

He presses kisses between your shoulder blades and along your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your skin. “I thought you’d wake up once I was in you but you didn’t.” His breath curls against the back of your neck like its own embrace, your lashes fluttering at the filthy words sliding from his lips, painfully at odds with his posh, amused tone. “Were you dreaming of me, love? Dreaming of me holding you down and making you come?”

“I think that’s more your fantasy than mine,” you say, as coyly as you can while arching desperately into his touch. His words are ringing in your mind – _love_, he called you _love_ – and your stomach abruptly drops at that. All at once it’s too much, the sly words in your ear and his palm splayed warmly over your stomach, his hips jolting you with every stroke as his voice echoes love love _love_ –

Lucio snarls as you clench around him, and he only lasts for a moment more before you feel the spurting warmth of his release inside you. The next moment, there is a sudden, shocking pain as his teeth close over the flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and you shriek more at the unexpectedness of it than anything else. He draws you closer as you shake from the dying force of your pleasure, the pressure of his bite loosening as he softens.

You take a second to catch your breath, and then you knock him back with your elbow, sitting up to the sound of his winded exhalation. “That _hurt_,” you hiss irritably, refusing to face him even as you feel his arms wind around your waist, one side of you cold from the sharp metal.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, sounding so uncharacteristically contrite that you can’t help turning to fix him with a suspicious frown. The soft light of dawn filtering in through the wispy curtains paints his face warmly, his tousled hair falling about his face in strands of bright gold instead of pale blonde, and you can’t help but soften at the sight. He is so terrifyingly, dangerously beautiful, and you must admit that it gives you a thrill to think of him as yours.

He watches you with that lazy leonine smirk on his face, seemingly unrepentant but for the distant wariness in his gaze. It darts from your face to your shoulder, and then back again, and you know then that he is more anxious than he will ever say that he might have overstepped one of your boundaries.

With an exasperated sigh, you reach for the back of his neck and pull him forward gently, head tilting upwards as his lips near yours. The moment he realises your intentions, his smile widens, one corner curling spitefully, but the slow swipe of his tongue against your lips is tender.

Just like that, the days settle into a strange sort of peace.

You think it a side-effect of his recent return to mortality at first, this sudden and unseemly determination of Lucio’s to have you virtually all the time. Every little movement you make seems to arouse him – a flash of your neck as you draw your hair over one shoulder, a smile sent his way as you beckon to him to keep up, your laughter as the wind whips at his silly fur-trimmed cape and sends it tumbling into his startled face. You can never anticipate when he will next pounce upon you, because absolutely everything seems to make him want to do just that, accompanied by that sultry chuckle that leaves you breathless and wanting.

But slowly, as he begins to lose his initial fascination for the crisp scent of the autumn wind and the sweetness of freshly-picked wild berries, as the sensation of the thick velvet brocade of your gowns between his fingers fades from fascinating to merely mundane, it is only his endless desire for you that fails to wane.

“Have you always been so incorrigibly insatiable?” you ask one afternoon, faintly teasing as you stand before his excessively magnificent writing desk, pinning up stray curls and dabbing at the sweat beading on your forehead. You can still see the faint damp outline of your shape on the expensive wood, where you were bent over just minutes ago, keening at the force of his thrusts. Behind you, Lucio tugs absently at the high collar of his vest before looking around for his red sash, which he eventually finds discarded quite unceremoniously upon a lamp in the corner.

He smiles as you turn to face him, and his expression is full of jagged edges, although you can see quite clearly how they’ve worn down at the corners over time. He still looks no less menacing than before, but you suppose you don’t really mind being the only one to pick out the crooked grins tucked into the corners of his sneer.

“Only for you, love,” he purrs, drawing close like a lion on the prowl. You relax as he nears, your face lifting and eyes falling shut before you feel the soft press of lips against your forehead, the cold touch of his left hand tracing your jaw.

In that moment, it is quite possible to let yourself believe that maybe this will endure, even if everything else does not.

**Author's Note:**

> My new favourite thing is writing soft Lucio who doesn't actually realise he's being soft.


End file.
